Hold On To Your Heart
by Road of Ruin
Summary: AU. In a world of no guaranties, love, like loyalty, is for the highest bidder and Loki makes the riskiest call, placing a Pandora's box full of truths, of hurts and power, into his hands. As long as Tony keeps it closed, he holds the key to the god's destruction. Or so they thought. FrostIron, Oneshot.


Summary: AU. In a world of no guaranties, love, like loyalty, is for the highest bidder and Loki makes the riskiest call, placing a Pandora's box full of truths, of hurts and power, into his hands. As long as Tony keeps it closed, he holds the key to the god's destruction. **Oneshot.**

Fandom: Marvel's _The Avengers_

Rating: T

Pairing: FrostIron – Loki Laufeyson x Tony Stark

Warnings: Slash, violence, language, convoluted plots, literal metaphors, lies, more lies, and more lies, and double meanings to just about everything so **read carefully.**

Disclaimer: _The Avengers _and all affiliated characters belong to Marvel and the genius of Stan Lee. "Don't Stop (Alternate Version)" belongs to Innerpartysystem.

Author's Note: Still sick, but the plot bunnies won't leave me alone. Oh well. I always wanted to play with Tony's darker side that no one seems to appreciate anyway. You know I'm not doing well when I start getting all poetic. This is one of the easiest styles for me to write in as well as one of my favorites. I apologize in advance if you hate it. It'll be the first time writing these characters without sitting in their brains. *rubs hands together*

Enjoy the dark!Tony/FrostIron goodness. All comments and commentary are most welcome.

**Hold On To Your Heart**

* * *

_I got, you want - it's just, don't stop_

_This is entertainment – **lies** are entertainment_

_You are down on your knees begging me for more_

* * *

It begins like a lie.

The meeting of hushed voices, of cruel intentions and hidden truths buried deep under the knifepoint of pride. The collision of two souls, one not quite human, one not quite machine, spinning together face to face; two stars dancing in shared orbit.

In the dark, a shadow smiles. The Merchant of Death lays his terms.

"You can't get something for nothing after all," he explains, because fair is not fair and the world may just as well burn to the ground.

The grin on his face does not meet his eyes. The God of Mischief turns away.

"What is your desire?" he acquiesces, because power is still power and if the world is going to burn he may just as well burn with it.

"That's simple," is the only answer, because it really isn't that at all. "I want your greatest weakness, your greatest regret. Give me the power to destroy you and I'll give you the power to destroy everybody else."

"How trite," is the only response, because it really isn't that at all. "And here I was expecting something impossible, something inconvenient. Humans are ceaselessly vain. You scrabble for power as though owning all the world will win you an immortal soul."

But Tony Stark has already won himself an immortal soul at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Loki Laufeyson knows this, and understands, and he will never tell.

"Take it or leave it," Tony says.

"Very well," Loki nods.

And thus a bargain of risk is struck out of arrogance and half-truths, a silence broken with twisted words and bending metal, the flash of teeth and laughing eyes. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will back down until the other falls. Such is their nature.

They do not shake hands.

* * *

It comes in a box.

It is ornately crafted, chiseled and marked with runes deep in wood dyed the color of newly shed blood. A solid weight in his hands, not quite heavy, not quite light, no bigger than the close of a fist; living magic and unbroken secrets.

In the light, Loki does not smile. His eyes are almost over-bright as Tony considers his gift.

"Am I supposed to know what this is?" he needs an explanation, because his genius can only stretch so far and if this is going to work he needs to understand every piece and pawn on the playing field.

His amusement does wonderful things to his face. Loki turns his head to keep from staring.

"What you desired," he complies, because the only way he knows to move onward is the riskiest way possible and if this is going to work he needs to know Tony understands his worth alongside every other piece and pawn he puts into place.

"It's a box," is the easy response, because it really isn't that at all, but Tony is far from stupid and, box or no, it was given freely. "And here I was expecting your brother to drop out of the skies or something. If this holds the power to kill you though, I'm not about to throw it away."

"How astute," is the easy answer, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from cautious and, death or no, it's too late to go back. "Its power lies as one. Keep it safe and you will have me at your discretion. Open it and you will surely break it, for it is impossible to open without ruining what lies inside."

But Loki has already ruined what lies inside at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Tony will soon know this, and understand, and he will never tell.

"I want it," Tony says.

"It is yours," Loki nods.

And thus the bargain holds out of curiosity and half-lies, a silence broken with twisted lips and bending hands, the flash of mirrors and laughing shadows. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will glance away until the other disappears. Such is their nature.

They very carefully do not touch.

* * *

It goes into a safe.

Three yards of solid steel, iron locks and an endless maze of security codes for which only Tony holds the passwords. A constant curiosity, not quite burning, not quite quiet, always at the forefront of his mind; Loki's most devastating gamble within reach.

In the moonlight, Iron Man laughs. The armor gleams like a polished star in his hands.

"You'll be untouchable," he explains, because a deal is a deal and this newest project may just as well be the most beautiful thing he has ever crafted.

Loki's eyes are so very green. He does not turn away.

"Put it on me," he consents, because this is what he's given everything up for and if this newest project is to be worthy of the price he may just as well see that it fits.

"That's suggestive," is the only answer, because it really isn't that at all. "This'll only work if you remove your armor first. Here, move. God, you're hopeless."

"No more than you," is the only response, because it really isn't that at all. "Do not pretend to know anything about me, Stark. I have worn armor far longer than your family line has existed. Now move aside. Let us see what the science of men can do against the magic of gods."

But Tony has already experienced what science can do against such magic at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Loki does not know this, nor understand, and he will never tell.

"No mercy," Tony says.

"Of course," Loki nods.

And thus the bargain is tested through purpose and half-truths, a silence broken with twisted will and bending fire, the flash of magic and laughing might. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will hold back until the other folds. Such is their nature.

They tear a hole in the sky.

* * *

It doesn't take long.

Their world is one of chaos, where villains reign and all vestiges of goodness and fairness lay encumbered in shadows. His old team, not quite mortal, not quite immortal, do not understand him anymore, hate him for going rogue; he doesn't kill innocents so they can't lock him up.

In the sunlight, Tony cannot smile. The Avengers glare back at him.

"Nice of you to finally show up," he says as explanation, because everything is starting to burn and that may just make him a villain in their eyes.

The fire does wonderful things to his face. Loki turns away.

"I am surprised they bothered to come at all," he admits, because the world is burning slowly and if these heroes keep doing nothing everything will one day disappear in flames.

"So am I," is the easy answer, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from stupid and, hurting or no, Tony says it freely. "I guess a little late is better than not at all. Though, you guys, I'm tired of doing your job for you. There's a shitload of people waiting for your heroics down in the tunnels. You should be able to punch through near the subway entrance."

"You care too much," is the easy response, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from cautious and, irritated or no, he does not call back his words. "A criminal should not care so much. Considering most of the damage here belongs to you, I'm surprised you had enough presence of mind to save even a few. You heard him, Avengers. Take heed of those who actually care for your help. There are more pressing matters at hand. Let heroes deal with the heroics and leave the rest to those who can handle it."

But Loki has already handled the rest at a price for which its depth holds no understanding. Tony knows this, and understands, and he will never tell.

"Until next time," Tony says.

"Unfortunately," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain premieres for all the world to see through steel and half-lies, a silence broken with twisted beliefs and bending morals, the flash of ice and laughing screams. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will look down until the other freezes. Such is their nature.

They don't look back.

* * *

It goes on.

Chance meetings and stolen moments, limits pulled and pushed in the comprehension of strength. Two lives dancing together, one not quite human, one not quite machine, lost in transient space, unable to keep from weaving; building and destroying as one.

In the afternoon, Loki laughs. Smoke curls around Tony's workshop.

"You're an asshole," he explains, because deal or no deal he doesn't feel like catching fire and if Loki doesn't stop laughing like that he might do something both of them will regret.

The grin on his face is beautiful. Loki does not turn away.

"I learned from the best," he agrees, because deal or no deal he likes playing tricks and if laughter can come so easily then it's something worth divulging no matter the regret that may follow.

"I hate you sometimes," is the only answer, because it really isn't that at all. "Why are you here anyway? Your staff won't be done until tomorrow at least. Don't you have a gang of villains to terrorize?"

"Oh I hate you too," is the only response, because it really isn't that at all. "Our enemies are still recovering from the last strike, ere fore I have nothing but you to keep me entertained. Perhaps I am here because there is little else to do. Perhaps I am here simply because I wish to be."

But Tony has already guessed the real reason why he wishes to be there at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Loki does not know this, and yet he understands, and he will never tell.

"Spoiled brat," Tony says.

"Indeed you are," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain strengthens through means uncounted and half-truths, a silence broken with twisted smoke and bending tools, the flash of eyes and laughing glares. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will take the lead until the other consents. Such is their nature.

They do not get anywhere.

* * *

It goes unsaid.

The weight of everything and nothing on their shoulders, days consumed in the selfish glory of the fight. Secrets and lies building up, not quite harmful, not quite innocent, turning them towards each other, encouraging; a bond of undeclared desires.

In the night, Tony laughs. The grass soaks into his back.

"Being immortal fucking sucks," he gives his explanation, because he should be dead right now and that may just make him the greatest tragedy he's ever known.

His blood does wonderful things to his face. Loki turns away.

"Keep still," he pleads, because this man should be dead right now and if the terror hasn't gone down yet that may just make him the most pathetic tragedy he's ever known.

"I shouldn't be alive," is the easy answer, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from stupid and, guilty or not, Tony says it freely. "Years of being like this and I'm still not used to it. I don't think I ever will be. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to Thor for trying to save me, but I should've just bled out. Fuck, I would've bled out if I'd known it would be like this."

"You are alive," is the easy response, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from cautious and, surprised or no, he doesn't wish his words back. "You have been bestowed with a precious life Tony Stark, one most and many have sacrificed their lives trying to achieve. It was your own decision to sample Idunn's great gift. Therefore, you must bear the consequences."

But Loki has already realized how devastating those consequences have been to bear at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Tony knows this, and understands, and he will never tell.

"It still sucks," Tony says.

"Without a doubt," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain holds more softly with gentle whispers and half-lies, a silence broken with twisted emotions and bending acceptance, the flash of rain and laughing tears. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will acknowledge it until the other bows. Such is their nature.

They watch the moonlight fade.

* * *

It shouldn't bother him.

It's a marvel of engineering, twisting gears and smooth metals forming joints and tendons of individual caliber. A perfection of parts, not quite human, not quite machine, working together to replace what has been lost; a long ago mistake forever taunting him.

In the morning haze, Loki stares. Tony doesn't notice his attention.

"It's way too early," he explains, because every little bit of sleep is precious for insomniacs and if his shirt is missing it means he would rather be sleeping then finishing up a magic and bullet-proof cape.

His robotic right arm hisses at the elbow. Loki turns away at the sound.

"I apologize," he allows, because he knows that Tony hardly sleeps and if he keeps walking around with his arm on full display he will do something foolish.

"You look like hell," is the only answer, because it really isn't that at all. "And did you just apologize? Like you're sorry for getting me up. I get it, you're jumpy. Villains don't stay in one place for long."

"Then I am not sorry," is the only response, because it really isn't that at all. "You are correct in assuming our targets are on the move. Unfortunately for you, they do not keep to your schedule. Finish up Stark, and I will handle them myself."

But Tony has already decided he won't let Loki handle them alone at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Loki knows this, but does not understand, and he will never tell.

"The hell you will," Tony says.

"As if you could stop me," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain stretches taut with unspoken words and half-truths, a silence broken with twisted glances and bending perception, the flash of pride and laughing ghosts. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will own up until the other cracks. Such is their nature.

They set fire to half of Harlem.

* * *

It does bother him.

A life played on by Fate, so unnatural and extended, no longer driven by Destiny or guided by Death. Immortal by happenstance, not quite welcomed, not quite denied, a life so broken and alienated from the rest; a fallen hero in a world that needed heroes.

In the sunset haze, Tony stares. Blame is a healing balm that time has never offered.

"What the fuck are you saying?" he needs an explanation, because for the first time he hopes for lies and that may just make him a coward.

His hatred does wonderful things to his face. Loki does not turn away.

"I am responsible," he confesses, because for the first time he cannot stop the honesty and if that makes him a coward then he doesn't want to know what it would take to run from this any longer.

"Is this some sort of sick game to you?" is the easy answer, because it really isn't that at all, but Tony is far from stupid and, angry to all hell, his words fly freely. "What gave you the right to save my life? I didn't ask to be immortal. Why? Why couldn't you just stand there not giving a single fuck while I bled out?"

"You really believe me capable of that?" is the easy response, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from cautious and, pride be damned, he can't stop the words from coming. "If you wish to bleed out so badly I can remove your arm a second time. By the Nine, I do not know what is more pathetic: the fact that you'd believe my brother clever enough to appeal to Idunn for a golden apple, or the fact you so blatantly ignore the generous gift I offered before we were allies."

But Loki has already ignored it far enough at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Tony knows this, but he will never understand, and he will never tell.

"I hate you," Tony says.

"And you mean it this time," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain crumbles with unrelenting sorrow and half-lies, a silence broken with twisted fists and bending fury, the flash of glass and laughing conscience. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will stop breaking until the other pleads. Such is their nature.

They can never go back.

* * *

It's like agony.

Muscles scream as anger is unleashed, old wounds and fresh betrayal sparking into an overwhelming inferno. Two souls bleeding, one not quite human, one not quite machine, biting and kicking and tensions flaring white-hot; every scar collected rips open in a single moment.

In the shadows, Tony punches Loki so hard the wrist-plates on his mechanical hand pop off. He crashes through the window.

"Fight me!" he needs an explanation, because the thought of Loki falling fifty stories should feel like sweet revenge and the fact that it only hurts worse may just mean he's completely lost his mind.

Loki flies back through the sill. His feet slide on broken glass.

"Do you wish to kill me?" he needs an affirmation, because falling fifty stories has done nothing to ease the pain and if this means he's lost his mind then the bruise on his jaw will never hurt enough.

"Stop fucking with me," is the only answer, because it really isn't that at all. "Just stop. I'm not some puppet on a string. I'm not your plaything. You don't own me or my life and don't even think that I'll thank you for any of this."

"It is not your thanks I want," is the only response, because it really isn't that at all. "I know what you are Anthony, and I know you are not mine, no matter how I wish it. I do not own you but you own me. All that I am. In your hands, the power to destroy me. I gave you that just as freely as I gave you your life. Pray you remember that."

But Tony has already remembered and realizes what he's missed at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Loki knows this, and understands, and he will never tell.

"Get out," Tony says.

"You know I cannot do that," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain falls away with crushing hope and half-truths, a silence broken with twisted memories and bending chains, the flash of electricity and laughing steel. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will give in until the other surrenders. Such is their nature.

They obliterate the safe.

* * *

It's warm in his hands.

A wonder that is so impossible, so real to behold even Tony's mind cannot comprehend what he is seeing despite the truth. And it's beautiful, not quite believed, not quite horrifying, alive and beating against his fingers, pulsing with magic and strength; something aching in his grasp.

In the light, the box lies open at his feet. Tony holds Loki's heart close.

"It doesn't look ruined," he explains, because he doesn't know just what he'd been expecting and this may just be the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for him.

His astonishment does wonderful things to his face. Loki cannot turn away.

"How could you not have destroyed it?" he wonders, because everything he'd been expecting hasn't happened and if he isn't dead yet then this may just be the most amazing thing anyone has ever done to him.

"I don't know," is the easy answer, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from stupid and, overwhelmed, Tony says it freely. "The real question is, why would you give this to me? I mean really, holy shit. Your heart? How are you even still alive? Are you insane? What if I had broken it? What if I crushed it in my hand? I can still do that you know. I can kill you, right now, if I wanted to."

"You have held that power from the start," is the easy response, because it really isn't that at all, but Loki is far from cautious and, shaking, he cannot stop the words from coming. "I'm well aware the depth of what I've given you. You asked it of me and I surrendered it in accordance to your terms. Perhaps I am insane. Perhaps this is simply madness. I have never truly been alive and I have never cared before now. I expected you to open the box and break it. I expected you to crush it while I watched. You more than have the right. Kill me now, if it so pleases you."

But Loki has already realized too late just how much his gift pleases Tony at a price from which its depth holds no understanding. Tony knows this, and understands, and he will never tell.

"I still want it," Tony says.

"It's always been yours," Loki nods.

And thus a bargain is struck through deepest acceptance and half-lies, a silence broken with twisted fingers and bending forms, the flash of skin and laughing mouths. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will let go until the other shatters. Such is their nature.

They set each other free.

* * *

It leaves in a box.

It is ornately crafted, plated and painted with golden lines deep in metal the color of newly shed blood. A solid weight in his hands, not quite heavy, not quite light, no bigger than the close of a fist; beating promises and unbroken secrets.

In the dark, Tony smiles. Loki holds his heart close.

"Figured I'd jump on the bandwagon," he explains, because fair is not always fair and the world may just as well end if he cannot even do this much.

The smile on his face reaches his eyes. Loki does not turn away.

"Are you certain?" he asks, because a heart is still a heart and if Tony means this then the world could end and this would still forever be enough.

"Of course I am," is the only answer, because it really isn't that at all. "I've always wanted to play Davey Jones. Besides, I have yours so you should have mine. I shouldn't be alive, but I am because you stepped in. I've never really appreciated that until now. And there's no denying how awesome this is. We'll be unstoppable, the two of us. Just remind me not to piss you off."

"You truly are a wonder," is the only response, because it really isn't that at all. "I will never give it back. I hope you realize the power of this Anthony. To give yourself so freely, do not expect I will allow us to part with the same consideration, not when I have wished this for so long. It would be impossible."

But Tony has already wished for this and knows the impossibility of it all at a price for which its depth holds no understanding. Loki knows this, and understands, and he will never tell.

"Take good care of it," Tony says.

"Always," Loki nods.

And thus their bargain builds into something of tenderness and half-truths, a silence broken with twisted destinies and bending lives, the flash of loyalty and laughing love. Unyielding resolve. Neither one will pass on until the other follows. Such is their nature.

They have found the answer to eternity.

* * *

**El fin.**

* * *

So, here's what's up. Spring Break is next week. _Just a Rose _will have priority during that time. No, I haven't been ignoring it. Random blurbs like this are helpful to my writing process and keep me sane in-between work and school. Don't be surprised if more show up before _Just a Rose _does. I'm really hoping the break will be über productive. *crosses fingers*

Poetic-prose styles are so fun. This has been the easiest FrostIron I've ever written and I'm a little in love with it. I hope you guys enjoyed it.

(And if you caught the Shakespeare references I will marry you, no questions asked.)

Now to finish my homework... *toddles off*


End file.
